


Three Mighty Words

by Ahiku



Series: Three Mighty Words Universe [1]
Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Comedy, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 17:29:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6293347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahiku/pseuds/Ahiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What's wrong?”<br/>“Fuck!”<br/>“Baz?”<br/>“My family. I'm supposed to visit them next week,” I say, pulling on my bangs.<br/>Simon tilts his head. “Okay? But what's the problem?”<br/>“You.”<br/>“Huh?”<br/>“I can't leave you alone.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! :D I tried my hardest to make as little mistakes as possible, but I didn't want to bother my friends to proofread this story and English is not my native language. So please don't be too strict with me, hehe. 
> 
> The cover is drawn by me. :3 I'm also on Tumblr. (ahikuboruchi)
> 
> Well, please get yourself a nice drink, make yourself comfortable and enjoy reading. ^^

** **

**SIMON**

It's my first summer break since I entered university. I finished my finals last week, together with Penny. Our exam period was pretty stressful, so we decided to celebrate a bit that evening. And it was great – we had a Dr. Who marathon and got stuffed and sozzled on cheap whine, take-out curry and sour cherry pie. (It was good, but nothing can beat Watford's sour cherry scones.) Penny overate so much that I thought she was going to explode. In the end she had to deflate herself with a spell. (I think it was **Wind of Change** , even though I never thought it would work like that.) (She definitely passed wind so profusely and unashamedly that I thought she's going to fly to the moon.)

Anyway, we were all giggles and grins that evening. Just what we needed to calm down.

Penny left for America the day before yesterday. Visiting Micah. They have a road trip planned. Of course she wanted me to come along. She said a change of surroundings would do me good, but this is not about me.

It's about them.

I think they really need some privacy. And I also think they don't really want to take care of a third wheel in their very limited time together. I'm sure she doesn't want to hurt my feelings and I guess she doesn't want to leave me alone for several weeks, but it's just fine. To be honest, it's a bit exhausting that she's always worried about me. I mean, I love her a lot because of that. She's one of the few people who really care for me. (Okay, I admit that “a few” is a bit exaggerated.)

But she really shouldn't spoil me so much...

One day she'll make time stop for Micah and they'll live their happy ever after in the States. Baz says that she'll still be my friend and that America is not amnesia, and yeah, I guess he's right. But still, everything will change then.

And she fucking deserves it. I want her to be happy.

I will be fine. Even without having her around me everyday. I'll just miss her dreadfully.

Jesus, I should stop assuming she's already gone. We still have some years of university in front of us. Get a grip, Simon.

I shake my head, get up from the couch and stretch myself out, fluttering my tense wings a little. They really hurt today. You should assume that you get used to them after one and a half years, that more muscles develop or something like that, but they are heavy and make my shoulders and neck cramp up almost every day. I don't even remember what it's like to be headache free anymore. Even when Baz or Penny tuck them in for me and carefully spell them invisible, I can still feel the weight.

My wings are visible since yesterday when Penelope's last spell wore off. I really had hoped it would last a little longer; it sucked a bit that I couldn't leave the flat. At least the fridge is well-stocked.

Fortunately, Baz has his last exam today. He's of course dead serious about them, so I haven't seen him in two weeks now. He said I'm too distracting. (Even though I don't understand why.) I mean, he did just fine in Watford and we shared a room for seven years. In enmity at that. I bet I bothered him much more back then, always thinking that he's plotting against me and always observing him. And he still managed to have neck-and-neck-races with Penny for the top of our class, that stupid clever clogs.

In his defence, I guess his family has high expectations, especially since they actually want him to study in Oxford and not in London. So I bet he's ambitious to satisfy their expectations. (Or maybe he's just overambitious.) (Because he's Baz – my horrible, horrible Baz.)

I miss him.

Good that he'll come over tonight. I just have to wait a little longer. I guess some butter will help me to distract myself.

 

**BAZ**

It's late when I arrive at Snow and Bunce's flat. I let myself in with the spare key Snow has given me a couple of months ago. It's very handy to have it. I mean, I'm haunting their flat day and night, anyway. I'm practically living there, because I really can't stand being away from Simon for too long.

The last two weeks were horrible, but necessary. I can't afford to fail. Not even one single subject. I have to perform well when I want to please my father, to make sure he'll leave Simon alone.

I'm sure my father wants to know every little bad thing about Simon, just to prove he's not good enough for me. I know he thinks Simon is a distraction to my studies.

And he's right.

This god-damn bloke is fucking distracting. He always was. It was always hard.

He's seductive and stupid – and that's a very dangerous combination, because he doesn't even notice what he's doing to me. With his golden skin. His moles. His bronze curls. (He wears his hair slightly longer now and doesn't shave the sides anymore, because I like to run my fingers through it. Very attentive of my boyfriend, huh?)

And then his blue eyes when he stares at me from across the room, brainlessly munching on biscuits or crisps or whole sticks of butter. His straight white teeth on his rosy, glistening lips. And his tongue when he licks them sensually...

Okay, maybe it's rather one of my fantasies – Snow is not exactly sensual. (When he eats butter he's actually drooling like a dog, but you already know that I'm disturbed.)

He genuinely is trying to be quiet. He's trying hard not to distract me, but let alone his presence is deflecting my attention. His smell. His breathing. (Damn my good hearing.)

I just want to kiss him.

Always. All the time.

He's on the couch when I enter the living room, and he's eating a stick of butter. (How could it be different?) I could swear his ears move on their own accord when he hears me.

“Baz!” he says with one of the sweetest smiles I've ever seen. He gets up and walks to me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. For someone who says he's a disaster at giving hugs, Snow is definitely pretty talented. Even his tail is wrapped around me. I put my arms around his slender hips, slowly stroking the small of his back. So lean.

“How can you eat so much butter and still be so thin?” I whisper against his skin, hugging him tighter.

Aleister Crowley, I've missed him so much.

His smell is surrounding me; capturing me in seconds and I bury my face in the crook of his neck.

Warm. Fragrant.

I feel the blood in his veins pounding against my lips. It's tempting. Smells sweet, and rich, and delicious. But I won't hurt him. I'll never hurt him.

He laughs and it sounds as beautiful as a choir of fucking fairies.

I kiss the moles on his right shoulder, then his neck, the freckles on his cheeks. He closes his eyes and I kiss his lids, his nose and finally his buttery lips. The kiss turns messy with his teeth (I seriously can't bite him – that would be catastrophic) and plunging tongues and hands pushing and pulling. His wings flutter, and the wind even blows the papers and aero bar wrappers on the coffee table away.

I detach myself and stretch my arms to grab his wings, carefully folding them.

“Relax, Snow,” I say, trying to get them under control. I walk round him, but just as I want to take care of them properly, I discover some bruises and excoriations on the leathery red skin, right where his wings are usually folded.

“Simon, why didn't you tell me?” I say, breathless.

“Huh? What do you mean?” He tries to turn around, accidentally slapping me with his left wing.

“Baz! I'm sorry. Does it hurt?” He sounds agitated. He quickly folds his wings himself and turns around to examine my cheek. “Sorry, Baz.”

“It's fine. You didn't hurt me,” I say, unable to enjoy his gentle fingers on my cheek. I walk round him again and carefully grab his left wing to unfold it.

“They are covered in wounds. Why didn't you tell me that they hurt?”

He shrugs, and grins, and I want to punch him. (I won't, though.)

 

**SIMON**

Baz is layering healing spells on my wings. It feels incredibly good. I didn't even know that I had bruises. I just thought my wings were tense. No surprise when I have to fold them in all the time.

He uses a more complicated spell to remove them – at least for a while.

They'll be back tomorrow morning or even earlier. It's a spell that wastes a lot of magic and energy, so Baz and Penny can't cast it all the time. Making them invisible is usually enough, I just need to take care that I don't spread them. I can still hurt other people with them. A good slap with them could probably break a bone or crush a skull.

Dr. Wellbelove offered to remove them – but of course not for free. So it's nothing I can afford. At least not at the moment. (And my Leprechaun gold doesn't work, since you can't give it to other magicians.)

It sucks that I always have to depend on Baz and Penny. I really don't want to be a bother on them, but it can't be helped.

“Thank you,” I say to Baz as I turn around to face him. He looks tired. I bet the spell was exhausting. This makes me feel really bad.

“No problem. Just tell me earlier next time,” he says and I think he forgot that he himself forbade me to see him for two weeks. “You really don't need to suffer more than necessary.”

“Okay, I will tell you earlier next time.”

“Good boy,” he says and pokes his own cheek. “My reward?”

I smile and give him a kiss on his cheek, then on his mouth.

“Why don't you get comfortable on the couch and I'll get a sandwich and one of your beloved candy bar drinks for you?” I ask.

“Sounds lovely,” he says with a tired smile on his face.

He's very pale tonight. I wonder if he fed properly the last two weeks. I make him my special sandwich with butter, mayonnaise, ham, slices of hard-boiled eggs, and lots of cheese. And I get him a Pumpkin mocha breve with lots of cream. He looks as if he could use it.

 

**BAZ**

I let myself fall onto the couch. Even with my super-strength were the last two weeks exhausting. Psychically and mentally draining. I'm glad it's over now and that I can finally spend an evening with Simon. Bunce seems to be gone. I think she mentioned something about America. I just don't know when she was supposed to leave.

“Where's Bunce?”

Simon raises one of his stupidly perfect eyebrows as he places my food in front of me on the coffee table.

“She left the day before yesterday. I thought you knew.”

Wait, did that mean Simon was all alone? Unable to leave the flat with his wings visible? Merlin and Morgana, now I hate myself for banning him from distracting me. But I told him that he should call me when there's an emergency.

And being imprisoned is a fucking emergency.

“Why didn't you call me, Snow?”

“Your exams.”

“You know that you're more important than my exams, right?”

His eyes search the opposite wall and a red hue is dusting his freckled cheeks. Oh, he is so damn kissable right now. He flops down next to me and leans against my side.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “But they are also important. And I don't want to stand in your way.”

“You're not—“

“It's okay, Baz. I'm fine. It was just a day. Just a day.”

Even one day is already too much, I think. But I don't say anything. I don't want to fight with him. When he says he's fine, I want to believe him.

“Okay,” I whisper and take a look at my sandwich. Mayonnaise, butter, ham, eggs and cheese on white bread? Good that I'm already dead, otherwise Simon Snow's food would definitely give me a heart attack.

“Did you take a bite of my sandwich?” I ask. There's a huge piece missing.

He shrugs. “I had to make sure it's good enough to serve,” he says and blushes even more.

It makes me laugh, because he's so lovable, and I'm so hungry that I almost inhale that fatty thing and swallow it in one go. I wash it down with a mouthful of my mocha. Some of the cream is apparently sticking on my nose, because Simon kisses and licks it away.

I think about getting more cream into my face, but he gets up and takes care of the dishes. I sigh and lay down a bit, feeling the tiredness spreading through my body. But I don't want to sleep yet.

He comes back and sits down again, manoeuvring his legs under my head. His lap is not exactly comfortable, but the hand stroking through my hair is making up for it. And the hand fondling my stomach is gold. I love this. I can't help but let out a purr while my hands play with the tip of his tail. (I only spelled the wings away.)

He looks down on me, his blue eyes soft, the cloud of bronze curls glowing in the lamp light. His lips form a warm smile while he's chewing something. Smells like a mint Aero bar.

He gently places a piece of his chocolate bar between my lips. I kiss his finger, close my eyes and let it melt.

“Good?” he asks, rubbing small circles across my belly. He's spoiling me rotten.

I nod and open one of my eyes.

He blinks. “You're tired, Baz. We could go to sleep.”

“It's fine. I want to be with you a little longer. Besides, I know you and Bunce had a little private party after your last exam...”

“Huh? How come?”

“She called me and told me what I'm missing – dead drunk. She even farted like a machine-gun, can you believe it?”

He laughs. “Yeah, she did. It was so funny.”

It was actually horrible, but she also sent me a nice picture of my boyfriend – flushed and sleeping very cutely on the couch. I think I'll forgive her.

“Too bad she's in America now. The entire summer, Baz. I'll miss her so much.”

“I know, love. But you still have me, right?” I say, but suddenly a long forgotten thought comes back to my mind. I sit up, apparently startling Simon.

“What's wrong?”

“Fuck!”

“Baz?”

“My family. I'm supposed to visit them next week,” I say, pulling on my bangs.

Simon tilts his head. “Okay? But what's the problem?”

“You.”

“Huh?”

“I can't leave you alone.”

Simon sighs and rolls his eyes. “Please, Baz. I'm not five years old. I'll manage to survive a couple of days on my own. I used to survive three months without you and Penny back then. Every year.”

Baz shakes his head.

“I know, but things are different now. You can't just stay inside for several days. It's like a prison, I really can't leave you alone,” I say and look straight into his eyes. “It hurts me, okay?”

He blinks. “Then don't go.”

“I have to. You know that.”

“Then take me along.”

“But they hate you.”

“I know. And I understand. Thanks to me they've lost their home.”

I sigh and stroke his neck. “That was not your fault, okay?” I say.

“It was my fault.”

“Not entirely. We didn't know the cause of the holes yet that evening.”

“It doesn't matter. I was the Mage's Heir after all. Even without the hole, they'd still hate me. But I don't care, as long as I can be with you.”

“But I care, Simon.”

His eyes soften and he kisses my temple.

“I know. And that's enough. You always cared for me, right?”

I nod and wrap my arms around him as well. When I was a kid, I spent my summers playing my violin and reading and walking through the gardens. It was nothing special, but I was at home. I met my aunt Fiona and spent time with my nanny or my siblings. I never felt lonely or not loved.

I often asked myself if Simon was feeling lonely. I asked myself if someone loved him as much as I did (and still do) when he was gone, even though I knew that he wasn't being treated well.

Growing up without proper care, wearing tattered clothes that weren't right for the season, eating unbalanced meals that never filled his stomach – I know his appetite. He's a gannet. (My cute little gannet!) (You really can't blame him for that, though...)

When I was younger, I thought he was spending his summers together with the Mage. But I know now that Simon was sent to different orphanages each year. For his own safety. Of course.

I'd say this is child abuse.

The boy was neglected and imprisoned. He starved. No one cared for him, no one loved him. There was nothing familiar to him. And it took weeks and lots of butter until he finally stopped looking so emaciated.

I always felt so bad for him. Of course I didn't show it and made fun of him instead. Six years in a row.

I'm a prick.

Simon felt the same when the bloody numpties had kidnapped me. It just took one summer for him to worry about me. Dev and Niall told me that he threatened them to tell him more about my whereabouts. Lovely, Snow.

He asked me where I've been. Why I was looking like shit. But I didn't want to tell him. It was embarrassing. And I was being a prick.

This summer, I'll take care if him. I'll love him. I'll make sure to give him everything he didn't have when he was a child.

It's a vow!

 

**SIMON**

He thinks too much about me. I can almost see the gears in his smart head spinning.

Basilton Pitch is a miracle of his own. Not many people can love and hate a person so passionately at the same time.

He really was a nasty piece of work sometimes. I forgive him, though. After all, he went through some kind of horror-vampire-puberty after the loss of his mother.

I also was not exactly nice to him.

It's sad to imagine that we could have been friends all those years. That we could have fought on the same side. That we could have coexisted without hating each other, without plotting against each other and loving each other instead. Without the influence of the Mage and Baz's family.

When we solved the case around Natasha Pitch, and made our truce, it was such a relief. I liked it so much better than fighting with him.

Baz taught me how love feels like. True love. Unconditional love. (I know now that I didn't love Agatha more than a friend.)

I just wish he would finally stop to pity me. I don't want him to feel guilty because I had a shitty past (he had a shitty past himself) or because I've lost my magic.

It's enough. I want to look forward – together with him.

And maybe it's not so bad that we're going to visit his family next week. I don't know if I can change much to improve our situation, but the least I can do is trying to get on halfway good terms with his father. (Baz is so important to me, I'd do everything for him.) (I'm serious... I'd gladly die for him.)

(Baz father is going to kill me, right?)

“What are you thinking about?” Baz asks, startling me slightly. He's still holding me, but the last few minutes he was so quiet I thought he was asleep. He looks at me with his magnificent grey eyes – with hints of dark green and dark blue swirling together like a maelstrom of temptation.

“Ah wait, I forgot you don't think, Snow,” he adds. I decide to ignore his snappish remark.

“I am thinking. About you,” I say honestly and smile softly. I brush his silky, black hair from his face behind his ear. He looks so beautiful and fragile and confused that my heart beats faster and I feel an overwhelming need to kiss him. Our lips part with a soft smacking sound and I look at him again, almost drowning in his eyes.

“I love you, Baz.”

It's the quietest whisper. But he's a vampire. I'm sure he can hear it.

 

**BAZ**

Aleister Crowley, I hope I don't look as thick as I'm feeling right now. I remind myself to close my mouth and to force my eyes not to leak, but it's already too late.

“Baz?” he asks me, worry written all over his stupidly gorgeous face. He's looking at me with fucking puppy dog eyes! It's too much. I can't handle it. “What's wrong? I'm so—“

I put a finger onto his lips to shut him up before he can apologize. He's done nothing he has to be sorry for, quite the contrary. I'm just overwhelmed, since it's the first time Simon told me he loves me. I always thought I'd be the first one to say that.

I spill some more tears, unable to hold them back any longer. He closes his eyes and kisses them away, slowly caressing my wet cheek with his own.

“I love you too,“ I whisper in his ear which is right in front of my mouth. My fingers run through his golden curls as I embrace him tighter. I can feel his smile against my skin. “I love you so much, Simon.”

Crowley, I'm so bloody soppy, I want to bite and drain myself.

This is a moment I have dreamed about for years. A wish – and nothing else.

Do I really deserve you, Simon Snow?

“Yes, you do,” he says, as if he can read my mind. (Hey, I'm the vampire here!)

I don't know how long we held each other, or how we got into his bedroom. I just know that we loved each other gently, and drowned in one another, and that we became one, like two dancing flames which are joined. It was wonderful, sensual, and special, and sleeping with Simon had never felt so good before...

We visited the stars one more time – but this time without magic.

Or maybe it was magic. Maybe I've accidentally cast a new spell.

**I love you.**

Three mighty words which can change the world.

~

to be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**SIMON**

It's early evening when we arrive at the hunting lodge of Baz's family. The magic still hasn’t come back to Hampshire, but Penny's dad said the holes are slowly getting smaller. However, now that I stand in front of their house, I feel incredibly guilty. I'm not supposed to be here, but I've promised myself that I'll try to clear the air and make a fresh start with Baz's father. For the sake of my boyfriend. I want to make sure he'll never find himself in a situation in which he's forced to choose between his family and me.

I just wish I wasn't such an oaf. Baz always tells me I'm eating like a starving animal. (Maybe because I always feel like one?) (Sometimes, I could eat three times my weight in food a day...)

I just think they would hate me less when I could behave myself.

Great, I'm really nervous now. At least I'm properly dressed today and not covered in snow and muck like last time. Baz gave me a lot of his old clothes. (Even though they don't look old, if you ask me.) I told him that I can't possibly accept them, but he said he'd just throw them away otherwise. That would have been such a shame, especially since they fit me so well. I guess he wore them two or three years ago, when he was a little smaller. The trousers legs are not too long, and his old jeans are hugging just the right places of mine without looking too tight. The same with his old t-shirts. The material is amazingly soft, pleasant on my skin and breathable. (Which is great, since it's freaking hot at the moment.)

I breathe deeply. I think every single pore of my body starts sweating from my build-up anxiety _..._

Forget the breathable clothes – I think my cheap deodorant is failing me!

 

**BAZ**

I'm glad I bought some proper clothing for Simon. He thinks he's wearing my old shirts and trousers–  a necessary white lie to ease his guilty conscience. I'm lucky he's so thick, otherwise he'd probably notice it. I know I shouldn't build our relationship on lies, but he's a bloody stubborn, self-loathing nightmare when you want to do something nice for him. He thinks he can't repay me for what I'm doing for him and is not my equal, but he's done more than enough for me. It makes me said, because while Simon is a very giving person, I think he has trouble accepting gifts and favours from others. He's giving me so many invaluable things I could never buy with money. (The last bite of his sour cherry scone, my own drawer in his dresser, little self-made good-luck charms for my exams, a shoulder to cry on whenever I need him... He gives me so much happiness, love, trust. A life purpose.)

I always thought I'd live a short life filled with suffering and longing before he finally kills me. Loving Simon Snow and being loved by him was always beyond my wildest dreams.

I'm the one who should ask myself how I'm supposed to pay back his generosity...

When he told me that he'll always be less than me, back then at the leaver's ball, I thought it was just a joke, or maybe a phase. Nothing serious. He still needed to figure out so many things – the loss of his magic was just one of it.

But he thinks so little of himself.

I  always thought that nothing can hurt him, not even me.

The Chosen One. A miracle. Mighty. A well of endless power. I've felt his raging magic myself. I had the pleasure to feel it several times when he let it flow inside of my very core.  It was almost like sex. (I was still a virgin back then.) (It was very different from sex, and yet similar... Being one with Simon is always special.)

It was so intense. A wild, green fire. Smoke. A star going nova in my chest.

Simon Snow was my universe, he was everywhere.

He still is.

He's always around me. A part of him is always inside of me. Healing me. (I think I don't have a soul, but I almost feel alive when I'm with him.)

He grabs my hand and squeezes it slightly, startling me out of my thoughts. I look at him and raise one of my eyebrows. Crowley, he's sweating like a pig in a bacon factory.

“Simon?” I ask softly.

What am I doing to my boyfriend? I know he'll never admit it, but he's bloody scared of my family. (He'd probably say he doesn't know the meaning of the word “scared” - but then again he doesn't know the meaning of most words...)

“Simon!” I say again, but he's lost in thought – unfamiliar territory for Simon Snow. (Hey, he told me myself that he doesn't think.)

He flinches and turns around, looking like a scolded kid. I gently rub my thumb against the back of his hand.

“Are you not feeling well? Do you want us to go back to London?”

His blue eyes look at me as if I've taken leave of my senses.

“Are you kidding me, Baz?” he asks and smiles like the sun. “I'm fine. Let's go inside. It's still so hot, I bet even the evening sun is hurting you.”

My dead heart flutters and I squeeze his hand tighter.

“Okay,” I say and quickly **“Clean as a whistle!”** him. He looks so thankful that I stroke his cheek and kiss him, not noticing that the door is wide open.

“Ugh, yuck!” I hear the voice of my now 9-year old sister Mordelia. “I'll tell mum!”

“Yeah, tell her we've arrived,” I say, raising my eyebrows, leaving my hand on the small of Simon's back.

“No, I'll tell her that you're snogging with the Fallen One.”

“Don't call him that,” I hiss at her. I guess even my fangs are out. Feels like that. She flinches, scared. Simon grabs my arm and hugs it against his chest.

“It's okay, Baz. Calm down.”

“No, it's not okay.”

“She's just a kid. Don't get angry with her,” Simon says softly, looking down at my sister with gentle eyes. He places his hand on Mordelia's head and ruffles through her dark hair. “You've grown so much since I last saw you.”

“Hey, what are you doing?” she screeches, but I can see she's blushing a sweet pink.

“Whatever,” she coughs, trying to hide her flushed cheeks and throws me a mischievous grin instead. “Leave, knock and wait until I say that you're allowed to come in, Basil. Think of your manners!”

I can't help but let out a small laugh. “You're an idiot, Mordelia.”

“Hey!”

I haven't changed my opinion about her yet. I'd still despair if she was a Pitch.

 

**SIMON**

“Basilton,” I hear Daphne's voice. She's  coming down the stairs, wearing a nice summer dress with a colourful flower pattern. She hugs her step-son motherly and kisses his cheek. “You look good. Really good.” She sounds delighted. I think she's honestly glad to see her step-son so “healthy”.

Baz really looks good. His skin has still a posh paleness and doesn't look greyish anymore. We always make sure Baz is well-fed, and our fridge well-stocked with blood jars. It took a while to convince him, but now he lets me help him with buying blood from several butchers across London without making ourselves conspicuous. They think we love to make blood pudding.

“Simon makes sure we always have enough food at home,” Baz says, retreating himself. “You look good as well, mother.”

She smiles, and finally looks at me. “It's good to see you, Mr. Snow. Thank you for taking so good care of Basilton.” She sounds genuinely nice. Maybe she doesn't hate me after all.

“No problem. Simon is fine, Mrs. Grimm. Thank you for having me here.”

“Are you still afraid of wraiths?” Mordelia suddenly asks.

“Mordelia,” Mrs. Grimm scolds her softly. “I'm sure you had an exhausting trip. Why don't you relax a bit. Vera prepared your room for you, Basilton,” she says and puts her hand on Mordelia's shoulder. “Make yourself at home, boys. Dinner is in an hour.”

“Not even the baby is afraid of them, mum,” we hear Mordelia as we walk away. Her mother scolds her again and Baz can't help but chuckle slightly.

“She's right. But don't despair, Simon. My brother was born in a haunted house, so it's no surprise he's used to them,” he says with a grin and rubs my back. I sigh and follow him up the stairs.

They call this house a hunting lodge, but I think it's immense. So many rooms. There's a large double dining area for entertaining guests and a living area with deer horns on the wall and with furnishings of unsuppressed grandeur, definitely true to their Victorian roots. I think I like it better than the house in Hampshire, it's a bit lighter – even though there are still Gargoyles on Baz's bed.

The couch is prepared for me, with grubby sheets and a very uncomfortable looking pillow. It's better than what I had in most orphanages, though. Nevertheless, it makes Baz more furious than he wants to admit, but I manage to calm him down quickly. (Rubbing his stomach and giving him little pecks is like a miracle cure for his anger.)

Dinner runs unexpectedly smooth. We don't need to dress up – apparently that's a thing for holidays and Sundays. The atmosphere is light and we're making small talk with Baz's step-mum and occasionally Mordelia. The twin girls seem to be a little scared, but also fascinated and don't talk at all, and the toddler is just interested in his food. Mr. Grimm is not present. I think we are both glad that we're granted a reprieve.

Baz and I spend the rest of the evening walking through Daphne's wild garden; lovely and filled with dozens of species of flowers whose names I don't know. The evening air is pleasant and a gentle summer breeze is moving the swing of Baz's little siblings. The garden flows into the woods surrounding the Grimm property, which is perfectly isolated.

“Did they buy the hunting lodge for you?” I ask, holding Baz's hand tighter.

“No, the house belonged to my grandfather,” he answers and looks at me. “Father used to hunt when he was younger. But I suppose he kept it for me, since they wanted me to study in Oxford.”

I nod. It would be convenient. He could live here, study and hunt. Baz doesn't complain about the blood from the Butcher's, but I can imagine that it's not exactly palatable. He found a way to warm it up without making it clot, but it's still not as good as fresh blood from a living doe. I squeeze his hand slightly.

“Go and hunt. I'll wait here,” I say gently.

“Thanks,” he says. I can feel that he's jittery as he rushes into the woods. He's still not completely comfortable with me watching him  when he's feeding on living animals. I don't really mind, but I want to respect his wishes.

I sit down on the swing and close my eyes, listening to the melody of the wind carefully. But after a while, the singing voice of a child mingles with the breeze that caresses my hair softly.

“Simple Simon met a pieman, going to the fa~ir,” the child sings. “Says Simple Simon to the pieman, Let me taste your ware. Said the pieman to Simple Simon, show me first your penny. Said Simple Simon to the pieman: Sir, I don't have any!“

I frown and look at Mordelia, who sings while bounding a small red ball. My eyes widen.

“Simple Simon went a-fishing, for to catch a whale: All the water he had got, was in his mother's pail,” she continues, grinning.  “Simple Simon went to look, if plums grew on a thistle; he pricked his fingers very much, which made poor Simon whistle.“

She's laughing. I need to ask Baz if she's lunatic.

“He went for water in a sieve, but soon it all fell through; and now poor Simple Simon...Bids you all adieu.“

She throws the small red ball at me, but before I can catch it, Baz shoots out of the bushes and pulverises the toy in mid-air. Mordelia and I both look at him open-mouthed, but she's more shocked than me. Her thin legs tremble.

“Mordelia!” Baz spits at her like a wild animal. He's all fangs and raising his hackles. “I heard you perfectly well. Did father tell you to sing this song?”

“No!” she screeches.

“Baz!” I say and stand up, wrapping my hands around his upper arm. “It's alright. She's just a child.”

“It's not okay, Simon. Being a kid is no excuse for everything,” Baz yells at me.

 

**BAZ**

I yell at him, even though it is not his fault. Instantly, I feel guilty. It's already the second time in one single evening that my family drives me mad. I actually like my family, but not when they more or less subtly try to hurt the person I love.

My father probably still isn't ready to admit I'm a vampire, or queer, or that I have a boyfriend. Or that Simon Snow is my boyfriend – but I'm slowly getting more than tired of it.

I'm very serious with Simon. I love him more than anything else in this world.

My family is very important to me, but apparently they don't understand that when they hurt Simon, they also hurt me. Maybe they hurt me even more than him. He's so exceedingly good at shrugging off bad things...

That's why I always thought nothing could ever hurt him. But deep inside, he's in pain and turmoil. We are both hunted by horrible nightmares...

“I was just teasing him!” Mordelia tries to defend herself. “You tease him all the time.”

“That's something completely different,” I snap at her. Considering Simon's actually state, it's a very hurtful rhyme. I still think my father has in finger in the pie. Otherwise, it's not subtle at all. Simple Simon is a good-for-nothing. An idiot. Not good enough for me. I get it.

“I won't tolerate such a behaviour, Mordelia!”

“Why are you always so angry with me?” She's stomping her feet. Throwing a tantrum. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”

“Mordelia!”

“I hate you, Basil!”

Then she's running inside. Crying.

I sigh and turn around to face Snow. “I'm sorry. I guess my father made her do this,” I say, stroking his cheek. He puts his hand on top of mine and leans into the touch.

“I'm fine. No need to be worried, Baz. And no need to bawl your little sister out.”

“She deserved it. Words can be really harmful. You should know that,” I whisper and give him a kiss. He closes his eyes and wraps his arms around my waist.

“Maybe she's just jealous,” Snow says after a while. “Maybe it's not your father's doing at all.”

“Jealous?” I snort.

“What? You're her big brother. I'm stealing you away from her. That's a good reason to dislike me, huh?”

“Snow, my siblings and I are not exactly close.”

They are so much younger than me and I already spent most time of the year at Watford when Mordelia was still a tiny baby. I saw my siblings during our holidays, but I've always spent the biggest part of the year together with Snow.

“You don't stay for the entire holidays anymore.”

“I stand on my own feet now. And I have you.”

“I bet she misses you.”

“She's a brat. You don't know her, Snow.”

“Maybe you don't know her as well,” he says. He rubs his flat hand across my chest and pats me. I sigh. (I hate to admit it, but I guess he might be right.)

I really just snapped at Mordelia since I got here. I scared her, even though my parents have told her that I'm a vampire. But knowing and experiencing are two different cups of tea.

“You're not as thick as you look,” I tease him. He hits my arm slightly and gives me one of his disarming laughs. I'm melting like butter in the sun. (I wish I were butter in the sun.) (Simon would drink me then and I could be an eternal part of him... What did I tell you about being disturbed?)

 *   *   *

The good old mouth-breather is sleeping soundly next to me in my bed. I don't mind his snoring, though. It's actually kind of cute. And I definitely won't let my boyfriend sleep on the couch. Simon never complains about it, but I'm fairly sure his back hurts. A lot. Humans are not meant to have wings. And Simon's wings are huge and heavy. I'm always surprised he can fold them so small.

I roll onto my side and drape my arm around his sleeping form, rubbing his naked belly gently. He's sweating slightly. (I got the warmest room in the lodge, since I'm always freezing.)

His folded wings feel hot and leathery against my chest. They tremble and twitch like the legs of small, sleeping puppies when you stroke their soft stomachs.

I hug Simon closer and bury my head in the crook of his neck. He smells so good. Heavenly. Desirable – like something I'd gladly eat. I kiss his neck, but of course I don't bite. Sometimes, it's hard to resist, but we both make sure I'm always properly fed. To ease my greed. So that we can have an almost normal relationship, so that we can love each other whenever we feel like it. Without worries that I might get too thirsty. Very important when his pulse quickens and his blood begins to boil. When his breath is fast and hot and his skin wet with sweet smelling sweat. When I can sense adrenaline and oxytocin flooding through his veins. It's tantalising.

Simon Snow is an aphrodisiac to me.

Always. The effect gets stronger when he's aroused, and almost unbearable when he's finding release. I could get off just by “smelling” his orgasm with my super-senses. That's why I'll never be able to get enough of him. Never.

Our relationship had a very slow start, though. I have to admit I was a little disappointed when we began dating – I was just a horny teenager after all. A curious, horny teenager who finally got his crush. And then it was not the erotic gropefest I'd always imagined. Sometimes it was even awkward. (One time I was not able to get my skinny jeans off and bashed my head open when I fell, and another time Simon couldn't stop farting – seriously I don't know what he had eaten that day, but it was probably rotten as hell.)

Nevertheless, we worked it out together. Slowly. I had waited for seven long years and he was giving me more than I had ever expected. So, giving him time, and waiting a little longer wouldn't kill me. (I'm already dead, anyway.)

Holding hands, snogging, dancing, holding hands, cuddling, holding hands, talking. More snogging. And more touching.

Now that I think about it, I shouldn't be complaining.

I know Simon needed it. He always held my hand. For hours. Like a scared child who's afraid of getting lost. Simon was entirely broken. He still is, even though he's doing much better now. Some days he handles everything even better than me...

In retrospect, it was good that I had decided not to push him and to give him as much time as necessary. To let him get the Mage's death and everything else that pained him out of his system.

It was important. And it still is.

He's worth waiting for.

We had our first time almost exactly one year after we became lovers. It was far from perfect, and yet it was wonderful and better than in my wildest dreams. We were both scared, but also needy. (And the best thing was that he hadn't had sex with Wellbelove before, no, Simon bloody Snow was still a fucking virgin!) (I was almost too good to be true... Aleister Crowley, I really do live a charming life!)

I snuggle closer to Simon and kiss his neck once again. His wings twitch and I stroke his arm.

“Shhh. It's alright, love. I'm right here,” I whisper in his ear. He wraps his tail around my waist and lets out a little sigh. (It's so lovely, I could melt immediately.)

I close my eyes and remember his flushed body when I saw him completely naked for the very first time. He was beyond beauty – his golden skin sprinkled with moles and freckles, with thousands upon thousands constellations to discover with my fingertips, my tongue and my lips. 

After our first sex, it was as if someone had pushed a button. We were both hungry for more. Sometimes, we loved each other senseless. And sometimes, we did it like rabbits – several times each day, as if we tried to make up for our lost year of (just) snogging and holding hands...

I kiss the mole on his neck again. I really can't get enough of him.

 

**SIMON**

The twitching of my wings wakes me up. I'm confused and sleepy, but Baz hugs me tighter and tries to lull me back to sleep with soft whispers and gentle kisses. I need to stretch out my wings, so I carefully turn around to my other side and unfold them. In the same breath, I wrap my arms around his waist and press my lips against his collarbone. His skin is nice and cool, and it's so light it's almost shining in the darkness of the room.

“Can't sleep?” I yawn. He hums lowly in agreement. I can feel his voice vibrate in his chest. Amazing. I close my eyes and feel nothing but Baz. And I smell nothing but him – bergamot and cedar.

“It's okay, though,” he whispers. “I like watching you sleep.”

I laugh slightly. “Who are you? Edward Cullen? A super-cliché vampire?”

“No, I mean it, idiot. It's the only time you look innocent,” he teases me. But maybe it's also true. It really was the only time I was relaxed around him when we were still enemies. I wonder when he started to watch  me sleeping, knowing that's all he'll ever get from me. (That old creep.) (It also makes me sad, though.)

“It's kind of nostalgic. And calming,” he breathes. I can barely hear him. I kiss his collarbone and raise my head to kiss him on his chin, then his lips.

“You have all of me now, Baz,” I whisper against his lips and wrap myself tighter around him. He places a soft kiss on my forehead and rubs small circles across my back. I relax further into him, my breath becoming shallow as exhaustion overtakes me.

When I wake up again, it's light outside.

Baz is still in dreamland. I wonder when he finally fell asleep. He's very pale today, but somehow he holds an otherworldly beauty. His hair is splaying around his head like streams of black ink and his long, black lashes rest on his cheekbones like perfect crescents.

I want to kiss him, but I don't want to wake him up, so I carefully climb out of his bed. It doesn't work though. (Because I'm not able to do things carefully – I told you I'm a clumsy oaf.) (And Baz's vampire senses are apparently always on alert.)

The second I want to get dressed, a pillow flies at my head.

“Take a shower, Snow. Don't even think about going down to breakfast with my family when you're stinking like a bloody elk in rutting season,” Baz says, sitting in his bed. (I know he likes my scent, even when I'm sweaty.) (He's kinda disturbed.)

“Shower with me?” I ask, raising my eyebrows and giving him puppy eyes. He'll not be able to resist. I'm still not good with words, or with body language. I'm still not good with everything. Period. But I've figured out some things I can do to make Baz dance to my tune.

 

**BAZ**

Crowley, his eyes! As if his invitation alone is not enough to tempt me... I mean, what's better than spending your morning in the shower with your boyfriend? (Don't answer – this is a rhetorical question.)

I wash him gently and thoroughly, teasing him that he can't clean himself alone; knowing he'll try and prove me wrong. I also know how to lead him by his cute, freckled nose. It doesn't take long and his fingers are rubbing and massaging the shampoo into my scalp. Lovely.

Soon, his clumsy fingers are everywhere. Touching. Groping. And his lips caress and nibble as they glide over my freshly washed skin.

I follow suit and kiss him. Touch him. Love him.

Merlin and Morgana. It didn't even take five minutes.

I think Simon experiences a form of “La Petite Mort”. He's totally out of it. On cloud nine. I have to hold him tight, or else he'd collapse on the floor. It's almost as if he died from pleasure. In my arms.

His voice causes goose pimps to spread across my entire body.

He's flushed and the water droplets on his skin break the light of the morning sun like little prisms, making him glow.

His sight is enough to throw me over the edge.

I've told you before – Simon Snow is my personal aphrodisiac.

 

**SIMON**

Showering with Baz was probably not my best idea. It's almost shameful for me how little he needs to do in order to lift me to new heights. (And he was still a virgin when we got together.)

Holy Christ, the day is still young and I'm already totally spent –  physically and mentally. (Pull yourself together, Simon – it was just a quickie!) (A really satisfying, exciting and heavenly quickie.)

I want to lie down and sleep again. With Baz in my arms. But eating breakfast instead is probably not the worst idea...

So we towel each other dry and get dressed, before we go down to meet his family.

 *   *   *

Baz's father is sitting at the breakfast table, reading the daily newspapers – the magickal one with moving pictures and the Normal one. There are crumbs and eggshells on his plate, his coffee is halfway gone. Mrs. Grimm is feeding the toddler at the other side of the table.

“Good morning, father. Mother,” Baz says and sits down.

“Good morning,” I join in.

Mrs. Grimm gives us a nod. Her husband doesn't bother to look at us, he's rather scanning the pages of the Oxford Mail.

“You're late,” he says monotonously. “When did you turn into a late riser, Basilton? Or should I call it bad influence?” Mr. Grimm raises his head and looks straight at his son, then at me. His cold eyes are piercing me with all the loathsome thoughts he can muster. (That's at least what I think suppose – I mean I know he doesn't like me that much.)

“It's their summer break, darling,” Baz's stepmum says. “They had a long ride and arrived late.”

Baz's father harrumphs and turns the pages of his newspaper again.

“The girls left early. Vera took them to the swimming pool,” Daphne tells us and smiles gently. I suppose that means Baz can eat as much as he like, without worrying that the kids might see his fangs. His stepmum knows about his situation, the toddler is sitting with his back to him, and Baz's dad is still focused on reading. (Or pretending to read...)

Baz still doesn't eat nearly as much as I do in front of his parents, but I'm relieved that he doesn't need to eat secretly. I can sense he's still not very comfortable, though. For Merlin's sake, these people are his family and it hurts me that he can't be himself around them. I understand that the twins and the baby are probably still too young to understand what happened to their brother, but it's really sad that he has to knuckle under to his father. (But who am I to talk? His old man is fucking scary.)

My wings twitch slightly, causing Mr. Grimm to look at me again.

“Did you ever consider removing your appendixes, Mr. Snow?” he asks disparagingly. Baz used to speak with the same snideness when he was younger. When we still thought we would end up killing each other... Now he's just like that when he's upset.

“Of course, Sir. I did consider it. But I can't afford it at the moment,” I say honestly, trying to ignore my boyfriend's piercing gaze. I've told him the surgery would be too risky, because it would require a mixture of high magic, vascular surgery and some other medical things no one can understand. It's not even completely wrong. Dr. Wellbelove said, there's a high risk of losing sensation in one of my arms or damaging my backbone. But the main reason is the cost.

The wings and the tail constrict my life. A lot. I really tried hard to see them through rose-coloured glasses. I can fly, for example. (I don't, though – because I just can't fly over London without freaking out everyone.)  I could fly. Period. But I don't.

What is the purpose of wings? Of demon's wings? Of a devil's tail? I think when I summoned them, I wanted to punish myself. I was the one who had created the Holes. I was the Insidious Humdrum. Not the Chosen One. Not the hero of my own story.

I was the villain. And my wings and tail reflected the image of my dark villain-self.

I'll never be able to forgive myself for what I did. What I did to the magickal world. To Baz's family. To the Mage. To Ebb.

I was the monster. Maybe I still am.

A world without my destructive magic is a better world. And it's just fair that I need the help of my friends when I want to leave my flat.

I deserve punishment for my sins. (My therapist says I'm a trauma victim, but I still think I'm a fallen villain.) (Mordelia's right... I really am the Fallen One.)

Baz touches the back of my hand with his fingers. I face him and give him a tender smile. His father blows air between his lips like a scoff and puts down his newspaper.

“You should have more than enough money.”

I blink, confused. “Excuse me, sir?”

“May I remind you that you're the Mage's heir?” he asks, cocking one of his eyebrows. (Another similarity between father and son.)

“Oh, I refused the heritage,” I say. I didn't kill the Mage intentionally, but I still feel guilty about his death.

“You're such a fool. Why would you refuse the money? The Coven discharged you,” he says and let's out a bitter laugh, looking at his son. “You're not serious, are you, Basilton?”

Baz frowns and squeezes my hand. “Father?”

“Why are you torturing me like this?” Baz's father continues and presses the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “You never failed to make me proud, my son. You have excellent marks, you're smart and well-mannered and you handle your–  well, condition very well.”  (Apparently he's not even able to use the word “vampirism”...) (I'm horrified.)

“Is this some kind of rebellion, Basilton? Out of all people you choose him?” he says despicably, nodding into my direction. “Just look at him. What a sorry excuse even for a Normal.  He can't even leave the house without your help. He's narrow-minded, ridiculous, weak and incredibly dense,” he spits. His eyes wander over to me. Piercing. Cold.

“Instead of money, you rather choose a future without prospects. But old habits die hard. You're already used to it, right?”

I look away.

I can hear his sneer. His victory.

“My son and the Mageling. We are the scorn of the Old Families. First he destroyed our house in Hampshire and now our reputation, huh?”

“He's not one of the Magelings anymore, father,” Baz tries to defend me. “He prevented the war. He gave up his magic for all of us.” He holds my hand even tighter under the table. He speaks carefully, without his usual bite. I know he's very loyal when it comes to his parents, and I really don't want him to rebel against his father just because of me.

“It's okay, Baz,” I whisper. “It's fine.”

“No, it's not fine.”

“Oh, he's so spineless,” Baz's father says and stands up. “Besides, you'll never stop being a Mageling. You followed him blindly for so many years, without even thinking about his wrong ideals. About your ideals.”

He's right. I followed him blindly. Because he was the only adult who cared about me – at least sometimes. The Mage was the closest to a father figure I've ever had.

“He was a cruel man,” he says, almost softly. “A cruel, power-obsessed murderer. A lunatic.”

My eyes water. I don't want to hear that. And I don't want to start crying in front of this man.

“Since you refused the heritage, you don't know about the journals and books the Coven confiscated from the Mage's bureau, right, Mr. Snow?”

I shake my head.

“Books about dark magic and rituals,” he continues. “And his records and notes about creating the Greatest Mage himself.”

My eyes widen.

“What... what do you mean?”

“Don't you understand? The Mage is your father.”

~

to be continued


	3. Chapter 3

**BAZ**

“Don't you understand? The Mage is your father.”

My jaw drops.

“T- that's impossible,” Simon stutters.

I feel horrible. Why did I bring him here? Why did I let him meet my father? I know he hates Simon.

I told my father about the Mage. That he's responsible for the death of my mother. For my vampirism. And the kidnapping.

“It's not impossible, my boy,” Daphne says. Her voice is calm and gentle. “Magickal items like wands or the sword the Mage gave you are passed down from generation to generation. They respond to blood bonds and blood magic.”

“But I...” Simon whispers. He looks pale. I can't even imagine what's going on inside his mind.

He had admired the Mage who was like a father to him, who made him his heir even though he was an orphan. He had put him out of his misery and had brought him to Watford. He had opened new doors for him.

But realizing that the Mage really is (or was) his father must feel like a punch in the gut. His own father abandoned him when he was just a baby. His own father left him in a place where no one really cared for him, where he had to starve, where he had no proper clothes or toys, just to “rescue” him eleven awful years later. He bent him to his will with a little bit of fake affection, the heritage and mind games. (No wonder Simon followed him – I bet he felt guilty. I bet he felt as if he owed the Mage for giving him so much.)

Anger is boiling deep inside of me.

His own father let him rot in orphanages each summer. His own father brought put him in so many dangers. His own father hurt him so bad.

And all he ever cared about was his son's otherworldly power... Not his well-being. Not his feelings.

The pain in Simon's eyes is breaking my heart.

“Let's be honest with each other, Mr. Snow,” father says almost calmly. “I won't approve of your relationship with my son. I made inquiries about you and I have enough reasons to despise you. You're nothing but an unworthy Normal, nowhere near good enough for a child of this family.”

The boiling anger in my guts is exploding.

“Father!” I yell.

“What, Basilton? Do you really think I'd tolerate the spawn of that madman? Your mother would turn over in her grave if she knew this!”

“Enough is enough!” I hiss and get up. My fangs are popping out. Simon grabs the hem of my shirt.

“S' alright, Baz,” he whispers weakly. “He's...right.”

I shake my head. I can't believe what I'm hearing.

As if my boyfriend is not feeling bad enough with his hurting wings, the loss of his magic and his inferiority complex! Now his therapist has to start from scratch again when they are going to have their next Skype session. Bunce and I have to restart as well. Psych him up again. He was finally starting to feel better.

But my father had to drop such a horrible bomb.

“Nothing's alright, Simon,” I deadpan and turn to frown at my father. “You have no fucking right to talk down on him.”

“Guard your tongue, Basilton,” my father yells at me. “Do you forget with whom you're speaking? I demand respect!”

I have enough.

“Respect? If you want others to respect you, you've to respect others first.”

I have enough of pretending I’m not a vampire or hopelessly queer. And I'm tired of hiding my love for Simon Snow.

“You're hurting the person I love the most. I understand it's hard for you to admit that I'm queer and a vampire, but do you really want to be in denial forever? Don't punish him when you got a problem with me, father. Simon. Is. Not. The. Mage. And he's not the one who killed my mother. He's also one of the Mage's victims. He was used by him. Is that so very difficult to understand?” I spit, my voice more than bitter. I'm slightly out of breath when I'm done, but it feels good. It feels so good to tell him the plain truth.

My words seems to shock my father, if only slightly. He's not used to me talking back to him like that. His mouth opens and closes. His cheeks flush. Then, he's finally losing his temper. He takes a step forward and swings his fist at me. He's never hit me or one of my siblings before.

However, his fist doesn't reach my face, because Simon suddenly stands up and takes the blow for me. Bones crack and blood splatters. The sound is making me cringe. His body bumps against mine and I automatically wrap my arms around him, stabilizing him. The sweet, tempting smell of Simon's blood is lingering in the air, but I don't even think about wanting to taste it.

“Simon!”

Father stares at us with wide eyes and open mouth. The toddler is crying.

“That's going to far, Malcom!” Daphne yells and quickly leaves the room, together with my brother.

“It's alright to despise me,” Simon says nasally when they are gone. Blood is dripping from between his fingers. “You have more than enough valid reasons. So just go ahead. Insult me. Hit me. Break me. I don't care. I guess I really deserve it. But don't hurt Baz. Otherwise you're not better than my fa-, I mean the Mage.” The last part comes out as a mere whisper.

My father's eyes narrow and he clicks his tongue. He's confused. “Ridiculous,” he mumbles and leaves the room as well.

I push Simon back onto his chair and examine his injury. My father landed a good hit – I think Simon's nose is broken. I take my wand and start to layer some healing and cleaning spells upon him. After a few minutes, Daphne comes back with a wet towel. She looks at Simon and strokes his cheek – almost motherly. He flinches. She frowns.

I think she feels sorry for him. Since they vetted my boyfriend, she apparently knows everything about his past. About his father. About the orphanages. She's the mother of four little children, so topics like child abuse and neglect probably affect her deeply. (And the fact that my father raised his hand against me...)

She doesn't say a word, but she claps my shoulder before she leaves the room again. After a while, I can hear Daphne and my father yell at each other. They are far away in another part of the lodge, though. I don't think Simon can hear them.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper between two healing spells.

He's looking up at me. His hand is rubbing my stomach, as if he's trying to comfort me. And it works. Because it feels good. It always feels good.

He's smiling softly. Such a courageous fuck. He's smiling as if my father's cruel words and the punch didn't hurt him. As if they didn't break him into thousand pieces.

I can't handle it any longer. Tears fall from my eyes and I wrap my arms around his shoulders.

“I'm so sorry.”

He's embracing me. Rubbing my back. His soft reassuring whispers tickle my ear. He's comforting me, even though I should be the one who's comforting him.

“I shouldn't have brought you here,” I mumble against the wet spot on his shoulder. I detach myself from him, my hands still cupping his neck, my fingertips drawing small circles at his hairline. “We should leave.”

He shakes his head.

“No, Baz. I should leave. But you have to stay. I don't want you to fight with your family because of me,” he whispers and hangs his head with sadness. The smile his gone, replaced by a broken look in his eyes.

“No, when you go, I'll go with you. I won't leave you alone. I don't want to stay here without you.”

He sighs and nods slightly.

“Okay, we'll stay then,” he breathes.  “But... but you're father is on point with everything he said about me.”

“That's not true, Simon!”

“It is true. I told you I'll always be less than you.” He raises his head. Tears are welling in his eyes, but his smile is back. His beautiful, broken smile. “I really can't compete with you, Baz. How do I deserve you?”

It breaks my heart time and again. I should be the one who asks this question. Not you, Simon Snow.

I don't know how long I hold him. I just want to make him feel better, make him feel loved. I don't know how often I kiss away his tears, but I'm thankful he's crying. I'm thankful he's sharing his pain with me. I can't do much. I can't give him much. And it's breaking my heart again.

 *   *   *

Simon cried himself to sleep. I managed to drag him to the comfortable leather couch in one of the spacious living rooms of the lodge. His head is resting on my lap. I absent-mindedly stroke through his soft bronze curls, until the soft click of the door being opened startles me out of my daze. I turn around, on high alert, but I calm down once I see Daphne walking towards me.

“Your father is very sorry,” she whispers.

“If he's really sorry, he should apologize himself,” I answer sharply.

“You're right,” she sighs. “I'm also sorry, Basilton. I told your father that it was wrong to confront Simon with-- you know. About the Mage. Everything was wrong and very cruel of him. Besides, you're an adult now. You can make your own choices.”

“Yeah,” I say, my mouth a flat, grumpy line. She takes my hand and places a small icepack in it. I dart a glance at her and gently hold the icepack against Simon's bruised nose. He flinches, but he doesn't wake up.

“He protected you. He's a good, affectionate boy,” she says. “I'm glad you found someone who loves you just the way you are.”

I look at her.

“I wish your father would see this as well, especially since he loved your mother so much, Basilton.”

For a second, she looks slightly sad.

“Wealth and status are not everything. The most important thing is your happiness,” she whispers and gently strokes my cheek. I don't move.

“He gives me so much more than money could buy, mother.”

“That's good to hear,” she says with a soft smile. “I'll try to talk to your father again. It's about time for him to admit the truth about you. Just tell Simon to avoid him for a while.”

“No worries. I definitely won't let Simon near him.”

“Well, I'll leave you some privacy, then.”

“Thank you, mother.”

Daphne nods, makes her way back to the door and open it's slowly. Before she goes outside, she turns around.

“Simon Snow Salisbury,” she whispers.

“Huh?” I ask, confused.

“I thought you might like to know his full name.”

I can't answer. I just look at her. Dumbfounded.

“His mother, Lucy Salisbury, was friends with Mitali Bunce. It's not 100 percent confirmed that she's his mother, but I've seen her on photos. They resemble each other so much. The same blue eyes and apple cheeks. Her skin looked as if she was kissed by the sun. Thousands of freckles and long, blonde curls. A pretty girl.”

I blink.  “What happened to her?”

“We don't know for sure, but apparently she died.”

“I see. Thank you.”

She nods and leaves the room.

I need to tell him about Lucy. But not today. He's had enough bad news for now.

 *   *   *

A couple hours later, he finally seems to feel better. He's still sitting on the leather couch and watches Shaun the Sheep DVDs with the twins and the toddler. They all seem to enjoy themselves very much. The kids are not hostile at all, they rather snuggle up against him.

Simon's laugh is bright and genuine. That takes a load off my mind. (I wish I was as strong as him – and I have super-strength!)

 

**SIMON**

I like this show. It's cute and funny and it's nice to spend some quality time with Baz's youngest siblings. They are lovable, innocent and happy. (Even though it makes me sad that Baz didn't have such a carefree childhood... He was just five when he lost his mother and when he was turned. Just five!)

My nose still hurts, but I won't tell Baz. He's already wasted enough healing spells on me.

“Dinner is soon,” Baz says, standing behind the couch and ruffling through my hair.

“Great, I'm hungry,” I answer and tilt my head back, smiling at my boyfriend. My stomach is growling for good measure, causing him to snort. 

“You're always hungry, Snow,” he laughs, but then his expression darkens. “Do you want me to tell the cook to bring food to my room?”

“Ah, it's fi–,” I say, but Vera suddenly enters the room, looking worried and alarmed.

“Have you seen Mordelia?” she asks. We shake our heads.

“She wanted to play in the garden, but I can't find her. She was supposed to come back home two hours ago.”

Simon shrugs. “Maybe she forgot about time.”

I look at him and shake my head. “My parents don't react well to disobedience. And punctuality is the virtue of the kings, Snow.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Mordelia knows that our parents will give her hell. That's nothing you want to experience,” he says and turns around to face Vera. “Are you sure she's not in the lodge? In her room?”

“Yes. She's nowhere to be found.”

“I see,” Baz says, biting his thumbnail. “We'll find her. Don't worry, Vera.”

“I'll immediately inform Mr. and Mrs. Grimm,” she says and leaves the room quickly.

Baz pats my shoulder, hurries through the room and pushes the French window open. I follow him outside onto the veranda and watch him as he elegantly casts a complicated search spell. White-blue light streams out of his wand, forms a small circle and creates a sparkling light pillar deep in the woods.

“She's not allowed to go there,” Baz says and looks at me. “Something happened to her. Wait here, Snow,” he adds sharply. He's worried about her, but of course he's hiding it. I grab the hem of his shirt.

“I know you can run really fast, Baz, but...” (He has super-vampire-strength after all.)

“Don't even think about it, Simon. Stay put!” he hisses, pure horror on his face. “We don't know what's wrong and I don't want to put you in danger.”

“But it's quicker when I just fly,” I say, spread my wings and lift myself in the air. The lodge is surrounded by nature, so nobody will see me. (Really, this place is the arsehole of the world, but I guess it's perfect for hiding a vampire like Baz.)

“Simon! No!” Baz yells and tries to grab my tail, but I'm already too high above the ground.

“I'll be careful. I promise!” I yell down to him and beat my wings strongly, following the small ball of light which is leading me. (As if it's so hard to overlook such a giant light pillar.)

With every stroke of my wings, I feel lighter and better. I guess I should use them more often. It really helps. But I shouldn't think about curing my hurting muscles at the moment. I just hope Mordelia is fine. She's still a child and can't use magic yet, so she can't really defend herself.

After a couple of minutes of high-speed flying, I finally reach the light pillar and set down to land. There's a nice and small clearing surrounded by fragrant bushes and lush trees. I finally spot Mordelia sitting on the bank of a crystal-clear river, staring into the water in front of her.

I walk towards her and stop when she raises her voice.

“Go away!”

I blink and sigh. “I will, but just when you come with me.”

“No,” she answers and turns round, looking defiantly at me.

I sigh. I'm not exactly good with kids. “Everyone is worried about you, Mordelia.”

“Tell it to the marines,” she says pertly. I scratch the back of my head and crouch down. Maybe it's better when I don't look down at her. Eye level is the name of the game.

“Did you see the blue light? It's beautiful, isn't it? Your brother cast a search spell to find you.”

“Yeah, sure. As if he's suddenly interested in me,” she sulks. I sigh. It's just as I thought. She's jealous of me. Or feels neglected in general.

“Mordelia,” I whisper and crawl closer to her. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry for stealing your brother from you.”

She lets out a small sound and narrows her eyebrows. I bet she's not used to apologies.

“My parents were fighting because of you. Even when you were not here.”

“I'm sorry. I never wanted that,” I say as softly as possible. “You're absolutely right. They should rather care about you. Not me.”

She nods.

“I really know how it feels to be neglected. It's a horrible feeling. I'm sorry you got hurt because of me,” I whisper. “Listen, Mordelia. I–  I really can't offer you much, but I promise to make sure that no one will chide you for being late, okay?”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” I say as I outstretch my hand to help her up. A lovely smile appears on her face and she places her small hand into mine, but before I can pull her up, she's suddenly in the water. First I can't see her, but after a second, large air bubbles appear on the surface. Her small arms are paddling, fighting, but she can't reach the surface of the river. More bubbles follow. She's drowning and something is pulling her down.

Without a second thought, I dive into the water with a splash. The churned up sludge makes it hard to see the bottom of the river. To see anything. But I feel the waves, I feel her struggles and wrap my arms around Mordelia's body, shoving both of us up to the surface.

She takes a deep breath and starts coughing. I try to hold her up, but I can feel that there's something clinging to her. A creature maybe. And it's trying to pull her down again.

“Hold on!” I yell and lift us in the air with an enormous effort. She's heavy. Too heavy. I look down and see a yellow-green creature hugging her legs. It resembles a monkey, but with a beak, and tortoise shells, and fish scales instead of skin. There seems to be a hollow indentation on its head. The creature is slightly bigger than Mordelia, but still has the size of a child. Well, that explains the extra weight. I think it's a water-spirit. A kappa. But aren't they supposed to live in Japan?

I fly higher and higher, spinning around, trying to get rid of the clingy fellow. I even beat the weird dent in its head with my tail. Mordelia's crying, screeching and almost choking me, but I can't blame her. I guess I'd also be afraid in such a situation.

“Let go of her!” I press between clenched teeth and stab the eye of the kappa with my tail tip. The kappa gives a howl of agony and finally lets go of Mordelia. I suddenly feel 65 pounds lighter and increase my speed. Nevertheless, we hear the breaking of branches and an impact. Not to forget the horrible, blood-curdling scream as the kappa was falling.

Mordelia wraps her arms and legs around me and sobs against my shoulder. I hold her tight and try to comfort her. But I'm not really good at it, especially since I'm also slightly shocked myself. It's been a while since I last slew a magickal creature...

At least I don't think the kappa was charged with drowning one of the Grimm children. If I remember it correctly, they just don't take it very well when someone comes too close to their river. (At least without gifts.) (I think they like cucumbers.)

After a while, I'm starting to get really tired. Mordelia's not exactly heavy, but it's exhausting to fly with extra weight. I'm so relieved when we finally reach the fringe of the forest. I think it's safe to walk from here.

The evening breeze carries us down. Slowly. This will be a soft landing.

I take Mordelia's wrists and carefully let her down onto the ground while I'm still in the air. I want to place my feet on the grass as well, but all of the sudden a loud magic-ridden voice yells angrily: **“Even though this might bruise you, Let it burn, Let it burn.”**

Not even a second later, my wings burst into flames.

 

**BAZ**

My father completely lost his sanity. Admittedly, a sopping wet Gargoyle carrying my equally drenched, crying sister high up in the sky  was a horrific sight.

Snow is not a Gargoyle, though. And as far as I can judge, Mordelia's not hurt.

Well, every halfway decent human being would await the course of events and further developments. And maybe an explanation. I mean, Mordelia didn't come home. It's not as if my boyfriend kidnapped her, quite the contrary. He went to pick her up. (It really doesn't help that he looks like a raptor with its prey...)

I'm sure my father thinks kidnapping Mordelia is Snow's revenge for the insults and the punch. That's the reason why he instantly sets him on fire. Of course after Simon has carefully placed my unharmed sister on firm ground.

He's back in the air, beating his wings, spinning around, trying to kill the flames.

It won't work. It won't work. He's just giving the fire more air.

He's screaming. Mordelia's crying and calling his name. Daphne takes care of her, wrapping her in towels and trying to carry her inside. This is nothing a child should see.

“He saved me! He saved me! There was a kappa,” my sister yelps. “He saved me. Don't hurt him. He saved me. Mum!”

“Simon! Come down,” I howl. “Simon! I can help you. Come down!”

“Don't you dare touch my daughter! **Let it burn!** ” My father raises his wand and Simon blazes up once again.

“Malcolm!” Daphne pleas. “Stop that! Malcolm, are you insane?”

“Father, he saved me. He saved me!” Mordelia sobs frantically, trying to escape her mother's hold.

He's not listening to her. But I am. I run back to my father with lightning speed and tackle him the second he's casting: **“With** **explosive** **hand grenades!“**

Unfortunately, the curse is hitting Simon's left wing and tearing it to shreds. The detonation sends him flying, smashing him into a tree. The limbs of the tree are breaking and cracking as Simon glides down, until he reaches a forked branch, unconscious. Still burning.

Daphne screams in panic, Mordelia crouches down and covers her eyes. My father is laughing, at least until I'm his collar and easily lifting him off the ground.

“ **Don't fucking touch him again or I'll forget myself** ” I shout. My voice bursts with magic. My hackles are raised. My fangs out. There's fear in his eyes.

Yes.

Fear me. Fear me, father. You better should. That's who I really am. I have enough!

I slam him against the French Window and turn around.

A desperate “ **On Love's Light Wings** ” raises me up into the sky. 

“Simon! Hang in there! Simon!”

 

**MALCOLM**

Natasha, I've made a horrible mistake.

When you died, I've sworn to protect Basilton from all harm. He's all I have left of you. In the end, though, I've hurt him most.

I've hurt him more than he could bear... I could see it in his eyes. Your eyes, Natasha. He has enormous power and I was a fool for ignoring it all those years. He's suffered so much...

When did he grow up? I can't imagine I didn't notice that he's an adult now. A fine, young man.

He's in love, Natasha. (Do you still remember when I've cast this spell for you?)

Do you think he'll ever forgive me?

I hate to admit that the Mageling, no... Snow, Simon Snow is right with what he said. You can't blame a neglected half-orphan for the actions of a lunatic, even if they are related by blood. I'm not better than the Mage when I keep hurting my son.

So... unfortunately, that boy does a better job protecting and taking care of my children than I do. Mordelia won't stop yelling at me that Snow saved her from a water-spirit.

Yes. I really have made a horrible mistake, Natasha.

I'll never be able to fix this.

 

**BAZ**

I wish I was quicker. But fortunately, Simon's tree is close. In mid-air, I **“Make a wish!”** to blow out the fire before I reach the branch and crawl towards him.

His sight makes me cringe and the smell of burned flesh is overwhelming. One of his wings is shredded. Bloody flaps of skin and bones. You can see the bones! I seriously try not to throw up, but I need to pull myself together. He's in pain. He needs me.

I need him.

“Simon,” I say. I'm not even surprised I'm crying. (Again. Somehow I'm crying all the time at the moment.) “It will be all right. Simon! Are you still with me? Simon, please.”

The other wing is completely gone. There's nothing left but a bloodstained stump.

I don't know where I can touch him without hurting him even more, but I need to get him out of this tree. His breathing is shallow, his pulse weak and slow. He has a strongly bleeding laceration on his forehead and some minor burns and scratches on his arms, but apart from that, his front side seems to be fine. I gently grab his hands and put them around my shoulders, then wrap my own arms around his bottom.

The remaining effect of my spell carries us gently back to the ground.

Kneeling on the grass, Simon slowly slips down onto my lap. I cast a couple of healing spells, but they don't help shit. (I've wasted too much magic with my search magic.)

More spells leave my lips in a broken litany, but Simon is getting worse and worse.

“Simon! Stay with me! Simon,” I cry. But he doesn't hear me.

He's dying. He's dying right in my arms, and there's nothing I can do to prevent it.

“Simon! Wake up. Please, wake up.”

Exhaustion is embracing me like a constrictor.

“Simon.”

The smell of his blood is driving me out of my mind.

“Simon, I... I could turn you,” I breathe. My entire body is shaking. “Simon, do you want me to turn you? Simon. Simon.”

I don't have another choice when I want to save him. I would save him, right? I would not kill him.

No. I would kill him.

Being a vampire means being dead.

But I'm also dead and apart from craving blood every now and then, I'm just fine. (As fine as you can be as someone who's undead.)

I just know that losing Simon would kill me. (Completely.)

“Forgive me,” I breathe, raise his body and lower my head. But before my fangs can punctuate his golden skin, the voice of my father brings me to a halt.

“Basilton, stop,” he breathes.

“Don't make yourself unhappy, dear,” Daphne says softly.

Both of them raise their wands and bombard Simon with healing magic.

**“Bright light, shining light, heal his hurts with all thy might.”**

**“Pain, pain, fly away.”**

**“Magick mend and candle burn, Sickness end, good health return."**

**“Early to bed and early to rise!”**

**“Get well soon!”**

Their quiet mumbles and my sobs are carried away on the warm evening breeze.

 

**SIMON**

The last thing I remember is darkness and the sound of Baz's crying. I want to open my eyes. I want to comfort him and tell him that everything's alright.

His tears are my weakness. (He's beautiful when he's crying.) (He's always beautiful.)

I can't open my eyes. And then I can't hear his crying anymore.

I can't hear anything. I can't see. I can't speak.

The void is surrounding me.

 *   *   *

When I wake up, I find myself in a hospital bed, lying on my side. Beeping machines surround me, keeping check on my vital functions. My eyelids are heavy, so I rest a little longer. The stench of disinfectant stings in my nose. My back and my buttocks hurt, but the pain is bearable. I try to move my wings, but I can't feel them any longer. My tail is also gone. I try to feel if it's still there and just numb, but moving my arm backwards is almost impossible.

Blimey! Bloody hell!

The second time I open my eyes, I see a head of tousled, black hair.

Baz.

He's sitting in his chair and his head is resting on my bed. Dead asleep. The poor fucker looks horrible. Seriously, his paleness has reached a disturbing level.

I stroke through his hair. Again and again.

After a while, he opens his eyes. (The black circles around his eyes are phenomenal.) (He looks like a panda – a cute, skinny vampire panda.)

“Simon,” he whispers as a smile flashed over his exhausted looking face.

“Hey,” I answer and smile at him as well. My voice is hoarse, so I clear my throat while Baz sits up and leans over to me. We share one of the sweetest kisses I've ever experienced. His hands are in my hair now, stroking, touching. My fingers bury themselves into his black silk shirt. His mouth wanders across my face – kissing my forehead, my cheeks, my nose, my eyelids. It's oddly wet. It takes a while, until I realize that he's crying, though. (I'm worried. He's seriously crying a lot recently...)

“Baz,” I breathe and start to caress his neck. “You okay?”

He sniffles. “I thought... I'm going to lose you,” he sobs. “I couldn't help you. There was nothing I could do for you. I– I even considered turning you. Ridiculous, huh? As if killing you would save your life.”

“Baz,” I say again and pat the space next to me. The bed is big enough. “Come here.”

He hesitates for a moment, but then he complies, crawling next to me. Baz buries his face in the crook of my neck and wraps his arm around my back, careful not to hurt me. I continue caressing his neck.

“I really want you to turn me one day,” I say after a while, breathing against his forehead. He starts shaking and I press a couple of kisses against his cool skin.

“You don't want that.”

“I do. Just not now. But I do. Baz. I really do. You're not going to lose me.”

He shakes his head and hugs me tighter. I'll let him turn me when I'm ready for it. He deserves to bite a human at least once in his life, doesn't he?

 *   *   *

There's a whiteboard in my room when I wake up again.  I groan.

“Holy Toledo! Don't even think about it, Baz.”

“What?”

“Using the whiteboard. Pros and cons. About the Mage or Turning or whatever. I don't feel like cracking a case right now. And Penny's not here. So spare me. Please.”

He looks heavily insulted. “This is a giant get well card my siblings made for you, you prick!”

“Oh.” He turns the whiteboard around. There are indeed a couple of scrawls and “get well soon” messages. “That's very lovely,” I say. I'm really touched.

“How's Mordelia doing?”

“She's fine,” he says and sits down, fidgeting with his laptop. “And she told us everything. Even without magic, you're still a fucking superhero, huh?”

“You do what you can,” I grin. “Oh, I hope you didn't scold her. I promised her something...”

“Nobody scolded her. I guess being traumatized is punishment enough.”

I sigh in relief. “That's good. I'm finally starting to get along with her, so I really don't want to mess it up.”

“Everything's fine, Simon,” Baz says with a weird smirk. “She actually developed a strange little crush on you.”

“Oh.” I blink. “Don't tell your father. He'll just kill me again.”

The smirk on his face vanishes and a look of seriousness passes over it. “Simon,” he says and clenches his fists. “I'm so sorry for what he did.”

“It's not your fault.”

“I know. I threatened him with my vampire powers and apparently brought him to his senses. He helped casting some healing spells upon you. Oh, and he'll pay for your surgeries. And pain and suffering money,” he explains. “But it doesn't change a thing to me. He almost killed you. I'll never forgive him for what he did. Never. I can't. ”

My eyes soften and I place my hand on his fist. “You will forgive him, love. You will.”

 

**Epilogue**

**BAZ**

Simon is wrong. I'll never forget my father for hurting the love of my life so much. Even though it happened five years ago, it's still an unforgivable sin...

And I'm not the only one who'll ever hold it against father. Daphne and Mordelia are my allies in this matter. And Bunce, of course. When I told her about everything, she and Micah immediately abandoned their road trip and came back from the States to spend weeks at the Wellbelove hospital. Bunce even gave my father a bollocking when he showed up in Simon's room. (It was a sight for the gods!) 

And yet, my father and I are closer than we ever were. He now accepts my vampirism, my queerness and my relationship with Simon. And he gave him a lot of money. (Father still thinks a golden key can open every door.)

Well, Simon forgave him. Such a fool. But that's another reason why I love him. (He's my thick and gentle-hearted fool.) I mean, he's still blaming himself for the Mage's death. His father's death. At least he took my father's money without complaining...

A while ago I've also told him about his mother. I think he handled it pretty well. I guess it was like talking about a stranger, since he's never met her.

She's nothing but a name to him.

Lucy Salisbury.

Simon Snow Salisbury.

It's funny that I've always called him by his middle name, unknowingly. Unlike me, he still prefers his first name, though.

Simon is a vampire now. I've turned him a year ago, in a rainy summer night. We've loved each other that night in ways we'd never experienced together. It was intense. Special. Incredible. Usually, words come easy to me, but I still fail to describe the incomparable beauty and the incredible feelings I've experienced at that time. (I mean, I've already told you, sex with him is always special, but... Well.)

Our heartbeats became one when I melted into his trembling body. We filled our void with each other.

I became solely his. And he became solely mine.

When the pleasure subsided, he began to cry. I comforted him and after a while he told me that he was afraid of losing me. (Even though that's my hobby... being afraid of losing him.)

And then he whispered his plea. Desperately.

“Turn me, Baz."

His wet, deep blue eyes captivated me as I embraced his shivering body tighter. Turn me, Baz. Three words. Another three mighty words which were able to change my entire world. Our entire world.

Simon's blood tasted heavenly. Rich, sweet and delicious. Just the way it smells.

I felt intoxicated. Aroused. He really is an aphrodisiac to me...

But I was also afraid. Of so many things...

Fortunately, everything went well.

He'd promised me that he'd stop me if necessary. He'd promised me that he'd survive. He'd promised me that his skin would stay golden. And that he'd still be my sun.

I believed him.

And Simon Snow keeps his promises. The lucky bastard got a part of his magic back when I gave him my own blood to drink. (Bunce thinks it's because Simon filled me with his own magic several times. Part of it is still flooding through my veins. Oh, and she almost killed me for turning him.)

His magic is strong, even though it's not as over-the-top as back then at Watford. Sometimes, his skin is glowing. It's beautiful. Oh, and he's absolutely sexy with fangs. (And snogging is also easier now.) (I was always so afraid that I might bite him. Phew!)

We're a dangerous and extremely good-looking couple. We have more than one super-strength. I really think we should be the heroes of a novel. Or an anime series. (I think Mordelia's writing a dubious boy's love story about us. She's denying it categorically, and she changed the names and places. But still...)

Magic also came back to Hampshire and my family moved back there. Simon and I spent a lot of our time in Oxford. Hunting. It's okay to drink blood from several butcher's in London, but blood fresh from a doe is still thousand times better.

Bunce will move to the States in a couple of months. So we decided to buy our own little house in the countryside soon. Not too far from London and not too far from the woods.

I know Simon will miss Penelope dreadfully. (To be honest, I'll miss her too.)

But I'm sure, Simon will be able to carry on. Together with me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two of the healing spells are from this website: http://www.khakani.com/freemagicspells/freemagichealingspells1.htm
> 
> The other ones are from the novel. 
> 
> ***
> 
> :D I actually didn't want to divide the story into chapters, but since brevity is not my strength, the fic got loooonger and looonger... (I started to write this little fic, because I needed some closure...for myself. :3 Hehe.) 
> 
> Well, thanks for reading. ^^ Baibaaai!


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